


That's Life

by hiddenfires



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Angst with a Happy Ending, But also, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rich Boy Crowley, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25064383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddenfires/pseuds/hiddenfires
Summary: Anthony Crowley and Aziraphale Fell fell in love in the summer of 1947.Much happened before, and much happened after.Or, a love story though the decades.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley & Hastur (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24
Collections: Good AUmens AU Fest





	1. if there's nothin' shakin' come this here July

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Big thanks to Amanda for organizing GoodAUmens, this fic wouldn't exist without it.
> 
> Hoping to update every week or so, but who know's how that's actually going to go.
> 
> (Title comes from, you guessed it, "That's Life" by Frank Sinatara)

**Summer 1938**

Love was lonely.

That, Aziraphale was sure about.

On a rare occasion, for not nearly enough time, he might find a gentleman who wants him, and Aziraphale might just want him back. But they all leave soon enough.

Gabriel did.

“ _I can’t keep doing this backdoor bullshit. I don’t need to tell you how fucked I’ll be if anyone at the bank finds out. Michael’s family is respectable enough and I’m marrying_ _her. That’s that, I’m sorry_.”

Aziraphale didn’t cry.

Gabriel was rather lucky; he could fall for a women as well. That had never been an option for Aziraphale, not since Alistair Blakely smiled at him from the smoker’s area during secondary. Not really.

“ _I do love you though. Maybe go for a run every now and then? You’ll get a wife easy enough_ ”.

Well, Gabriel always was kind of an asshole, but Aziraphale loved him anyway. And that’s just it, isn’t it? Aziraphale thought, It’s all backstreet dalliances and stolen glances,and when you do find someone, you get what you get. No asking the father for his child’s hand, no big wedding (which Aziraphale always rather wanted). How many hours had he spent at the alter during university begging God to fix him? How many girls had he flirted and courted in desperate attempt to just feel something more? Aziraphale made peace with himself somewhere around senior year, but the hiding never stopped. Nor, he was almost certain, would it ever.

Sprawled across his bed and flushed with the late-July heat, Aziraphale reached for his weathered copy of _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , intent to read the night away.Distantly, he could hear the bustle of the city streets below his Soho apartment, and wondered if perhaps Gabriel was down there, rushing off to a _respectable_ dinner with his new _respectable_ wife Michael.

Aziraphale was lonely.

* * *

Anthony was on top of the world.

The 1936 Bentley had been an impulse buy off Barbara Hutton after one too many drinks at The Stork Club last April, and it was shaping up to be perhaps the best investment he’d ever made.

“Would you slow the _fuck_ down?!” exclaimed Hastur “you’re going to kill us both!”

The Brooklyn Bridge was surprisingly light on traffic for a Thursday afternoon, not that Anthony was complaining. It provided ample opportunity for him to race 80 mph toward downtown.

Well, 75mph now.

“You’re a real pill, you know that?”

“I don’t care” Hastur replied, lighting up his 3rd cigarette of the ride.

Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Demon” he mumbled as he switched lanes, subsequently cutting off a bright red sports car. The driver’s beeps were then, much like Hastur’s request, generally ignored.

“Actually, it’s Duke to you. Now that Esther and I have tied the knot at least” said Hastur, “and you’re one to talk, you flash-bastard. ”?

Anthony Crowley did in fact receive an allowance, but that was neither here nor there. Plenty of the people in his circle had an allowance in one form or another: wives of young money, or royal blood like Hastur, or heirs like Anthony, though few could compare with the inheritance of ½ of real estate tycoon Lucien Crowley’s 334-million-dollar fortune.

“Oh shut up. What’s the address again?”

Anthony was oblivious.


	2. Many times I though of cutting out, but my heart just won't buy it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience, as my update schedule has evidently gone out the window. I've decided to do a few vignettes which will be connected as the story goes on. 
> 
> This chapter is very soft because it's 2020 and why not have fluff with a smidge of plot?
> 
> Enjoy!

**Fall 1949**

Aziraphale had good reason to be cautious.

“You think one day it’ll all be simpler?” Crowley asked one morning. His eyes were sleepily downcast, head resting gently on Aziraphale's chest.

Aziraphale couldn't remember exactly when they'd begin sharing the bed. Maybe it was a year or so ago. However long, he could no longer imagine sleeping without Crowley close to him. He loved waking in the morning to the ginger splayed out, somehow always having a limb or two resting on Aziraphale, soft snores emitting every so often. He loved gently padding into the kitchen, careful not to wake his beloved, and make them their morning tea. However, not every morning could be like that. Of course it couldn't, they needed to practice reasonable caution. Don't be seen entering the flat too much together, sit an appropriate distance from each other in the park, never eat out in an overly dim restaurant, and things of the like. Those sort of rules had always been second nature to Aziraphale, but the party last week had been a considerable slip up, and he didn't know much else of what to do besides pray that Hastur will keep his mouth shut. Hastur and Crowley were close, known each other for years, surely he wouldn't do anything that would lead to harm. But then again, there had been such a look in his eyes which Aziraphale didn't know what to make of. Crowley had chased his friend down after and didn't return for a good few hours. He had come back seemingly confident and had done his best to quell Aziraphale's fears. But Crowley was a good actor, and had always been bafflingly so self assured...

But that didn't matter right now. Or at least it could wait. Crowley gently twirled his fingers through Aziraphale’s curly locks. The blonde hummed contently; eyes closed as they lay tangled in the sheets. It was nearing 6:00 am, and the morning light was just beginning to creep into the room. Aziraphale pulled Crowley closer. He was cold (as always), his lithe frame being a wonderful contrast to Aziraphale’s own.

He loved moments like these, and he never wanted them to end. The soft morning light allowed both for secrets and the promise of something new. Here, he loved Crowley, Crowley loved him and there was nothing more to the world than that. He thought of all they had gone through, all the trails joys and tears. Maybe they wouldn't end up together, or maybe everything is about to go crashing like a lead balloon, but the times thus far have only seemed to make them stronger. They fit. Aziraphale thinks of all the years he was certain he would never experience this, and marvels at the Eden they have cultivated. Hastur be damned.

Aziraphale also had good reason to throw caution to the wind.


End file.
